


Run

by gidgetxzim



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mpreg, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gidgetxzim/pseuds/gidgetxzim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right now, this Robin was the lithe creature that all wanted to battle, to beat, to touch, to fuck. The predator being built by the League was allowed to make its appearance. He was the beast born from fire and blood, the animal that could only be satiated by the blood of the ones who craved his ruin.</p><p> </p><p>**CHAPTER 1 EDITED** 1/10/13</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Dark Knight Rises movie or Batman DCU comics. I do not own any characters from the The Dark Knight Rises movie or from the original Batman DCU comics. I make no profit off of this work. 
> 
> Warnings in the end notes.

It’s Just A Little Pain

_4 weeks_

The room was pitch black when Robin’s body decided to respond to his subconscious’ decision to just _wake up_. He wasn’t allowed his rare, slow and heady, blood pumping like molasses wake up either. That small morsel of self-indulgence was only tolerable when work was nonexistent or when the last fragments of rationality he owned had _just_ enough power left to sway his body when _he_ was near. No, this was more like the adrenaline pumping, _intruder_ _alert_ , he cultivated while living in the sewers with the League of Shadows.

 

Robin was lying on his back, nude under the light beige sheet that covered the tacky yellow, pink, and blue floral patterned bed set when his body suddenly went rigid.

 

Robin shifted his body enough so that his eyes could make a slow trek around the shadowed room. His breathing sluggish and undisturbed as his body melted into a façade of sleepy repose, a trick he learned to use in case of confrontation with any unwanted nightly visitors.  

 

His slow breathing and the sound of lapping water were the only noises that resonated throughout the room.

 

Fragments of light that came through a nearby window illuminated some of the more shadowed areas, allowing Robin to see the sparsely furnished room better. There was the one bed that he was lying on now, a plain mattress propped on an older then sin metal bed frame that groaned and screeched at the most inopportune times. Robin knew for a fact that tucked under the bed was a set of two black canvas bags, one full of Robin’s clothing, the other, Bane’s. Whatever they wore for that day was washed and efficiently tucked right back into the packs. The packs were mostly for the lack of a dresser as well as easy access in times of emergency when quick getaways were the only alternative. Near the foot of the bed was the only footwear that Robin owned, a tall pair of thick, all black lace up combat boots. Him and Bane had only one pair of boots each. No more, no less.

 

To the left of where Robin was lying on his back was the doorway. The door was long and wide, heavy and made of wrought iron and wood. The wood was swollen and turning a murky brown due to the damp, muggy sewer air. The rusting metal on the door made a simple horizontal bar pattern. One thick brown tinged bar near the top, middle, and bottom of the door. Its large frame kept out some of the draft from the corridor from entering the room.

 

A good couple foot to the right of the door rested a large desk and chair. The desk was a shinny mahogany brown affair that could probably be found in a normal office or study. The shellac dulled and chipped in some places giving it a well-used sort of look. The desk had one middle drawer and one row of two vertical drawers on both the left and right of the gap made by the middle drawer. On the desk was the only lantern that Bane kept in the room. It was large and fed on actual oil. Also on the desk were papers that varied from official looking–seals and all–to grubby pieces of scraps with scribbles written on them in languages Robin had yet to learn. There were pens, pencils, and any other piece of stationary one would think a terrorist leader could need to run his syndicate. The chair for the desk was a bedraggled wooden deal with cushions on the front-back and seat areas, both wrapped in a faded dark red material. Splayed along the red material were rows of tiny gold diamond patterns running diagonally against the chairs fabric. On the far right edge of the chair Robin could see a tear starting. He will have to re-upholster the chair soon before the rip made the chair unsalvageable. He’s not doing it for himself though. The chair makes his back hurt and his body stiff after a few hours of sitting in it.

_But it was Bane’s seat, so…_

 

To the right of the desk, embedded high above in the center of the wall, was a medium sized rectangular window. Rooted into the window were two thick, vertical steel bars. The only way Robin was ever able to see out of the barred window was when he tippy toed on the chair back of the one-cushioned sofa below it. The sofa was a sturdy piece of furniture. It was made of a deep, solid maroon colored material that actually felt nice against Robin’s skin. Firm but comfortable, the chair was one of the only dignified spots in the bedroom for visitors to sit.

 

When Robin was first thrown into this bedroom, he would risk the chair climb to look out that window. When he got close enough he was faced with a view of a massive waterfall. The water was loud and crystal clear, lapping away into a cerulean stream that flowed to the nearest river. It was like watching glass shatter and liquefy right before his eyes.

 

He adored it.

 

When the world became too much, and sleep–his only escape–eluded him, he would lie still and allow the rushing rhythm of the water to consume him entirely. The noise would clear his mind and place him into a state of peacefulness that allowed his body to pretend it didn’t feel any sweat, blood, tears, or broken bones.

 

Half-heartedly thrown onto the one-cushioned chair was the shirt and military fatigue pants that Robin wore that day. He was so exhausted when he came back from training earlier that just the thought of folding and returning the clothes to their rightful place drained what little energy he had left. Yeah he admits he broke the rule about clothing, and really, he had no legitimate reason for doing so, but at the time he couldn’t be bothered to give a shit about the rules anymore.

 

When Robin was sure the room was clear of any intruders, he turned onto his stomach, one hand resting near his face, the other, weightless by his side as he let the noise coming from the rushing waterfall loosen his tense limbs. His eyes began a series of long, sluggish blinks. His face slowly released some of the strain it gained earlier from the feigned sleep. Each breath he took became slower and deeper than the last.

 

While lying on his side Robin could see more of the distorted light as it made its way through the barred window above him. The light played along the shadowed surfaces of the room, touching some areas more then others. The fuzziness of needed sleep morphed the new shadows into indistinct, riotous shapes of monsters slaughtering each other, scenes and characters from fairy tales he thought he long lost to grief and regret. After moments of staring at the gaping maw of one creature clashing with the long neck of another, Robin finally shut his eyes against the dizzying shades of patterns.

 

A gust of wind squeezed its way through the space left under the wooden door. Robin shivered when the cool breeze ruffled the sheets around him, playing along his smooth, naked back. He nuzzled himself deeper into one of the two pillows at the top of the bed, pulling the thin sheet tighter around himself as he went. The room had a penchant for going from just bearable to below zero _quick_ thanks to the surrounding stone floors, walls, and total lack of insulation. The thought of a fuzzy carpet and a thick comforter made Robin’s toes curl under the sheets in phantom want, but sadly he knew anything like that was out of the question. Bane wasn’t one for unneeded luxury; he was too pragmatic for that. To him, if it wasn’t a necessity then it was something petty that did not deserve his consideration.

 

Robin was on the edge of falling into a well-deserved deep sleep when all of a sudden he felt something. His heavy eyelids flew open in alert, body rising, hands shooting to his stomach when it suddenly seized in pain.

Robin let loose a painful little moan into the darkness. _There, there it goes_. _Uh, the **fuck**?_

Robin bit his bottom lip hard when he felt another cramp in his lower abdomen. His hands reached down carefully to roam the area around the ache, not wanting to enrage the pain. Is this what woke him up? It was a sharp flaring feeling, as if his insides were contracting and expanding all at the same time. His belly _ached._ But Robin was no novice to pain. He’s survived being shot at, stabbed, combat with enemies of the League, training with Barsad, Talia, and even Bane _himself_ for god sakes. He thinks he could contend with some mutinous biology.

 

But when throbbing, prickly aches began in his penis and anus while the pain in his belly became maddening intense stabs of hurt echoing up his front, Robin didn’t begrudge himself his slight display of weakness when he curled onto his side, slotting one hand between his thighs to gently cup his penis as he wrapped his other arm tight around his stomach, trying to create some semblance of relief against the ongoing torrent of agonizing pain.

 

As Robin used the pillow closest to him to wipe off the budding beads of sweat on his forehead, he realized how little he had thought about god in these last couple of years. With his past set in stone the way it is, jagged and full of resentment, and his present shaping out to be something he has surely lost most–if not all–control of, one cannot really blame the boy for giving religion the proverbial bird. But when Robin’s eyes slammed shut while his teeth gnashed over a hideous moan, his body arching as he convulsed through another jolt of pain, he couldn’t help but send the “big man” a quick thank you for the absence of his usual bed partner. Robin doesn’t think he could have hid this while making his body emulate slumber to ward off Bane.

 

If Bane was here and heard one of these pained filled noises slip from between Robin’s lips, he would have had him pinned to the bed, one of his hands trapping both of Robin’s behind his back as his other hand roamed Robin’s body brusquely.

 

Robin also wasn’t in the mood for Bane’s interrogation style. When it was Robin under the microscope, interrogation for him included manhandling him into the position of the colossal mans choice, usually one that had his face pinned towards Bane’s. Robin could still feel the phantom touch of Bane’s arms caging him in like a bird, forced to stare back into those piercing eyes that could convey _multitudes_. From boredom to wry amusement, to pure unadulterated _fury_ ,to your owndeath, all this transmitted so effortlessly it was infuriating. His massive body would have swallowed Robin’s whole. The implications of the wrath that would rain down on Robin if he even _thought_ of trying to escape Bane and his mask, daunting.

____________________________________________________________________

 

_5 Hours Later_

Robin tried to sleep through the pain but he was only able to reach a hazy state of heat and wooziness. His head was throbbing from the battering his body was taking. The sheets cast off long ago were now tangled between his legs, trapping them from much movement. His teeth felt loose in his skull from grinding them so often and so hard when he tried to hide the whimpers that he couldn’t swallow back down fast enough. His lips felt swollen and his tongue thick, mouth dry and chapped as the coppery taste of blood and acid played along his taste buds. The build up of saliva the only reprieve he got from the sticky-dry feel of his mouth and throat.

 

On the other side of Robin’s door, just a few paces left, and then right, lay a veiled alcove that led to a personal bathroom that only Bane, Talia, and Barsad used. Right now Robin could picture his pale figure relaxing in the black stoned room.

When you first walk into the makeshift bathroom, on the left, embedded into the wall is a large old and battered rusted sink. Its deep copper bowl is connected to a long copper spout that pumps out clean water. To the right of the sink sits an average sized toilet. Behind the toilet are some of the pipes for the room, tangled in a labyrinth that feeds into holes that lead to a whole water and plumbing system maintained in another room. On the wall opposite the sink and toilet is a row of five elegantly curled metal hooks. In the space between the wall of hooks and the sink, is a large claw foot bathtub made of black marble with a detachable copper showerhead mounted against the dark cracked wall.

 

The images Robin had of him washing the stale taste of stomach acid out of his mouth, getting a drink of water, using the toilet, and taking a warm shower played against Robin’s closed eyelids.

 

By now the sheets were damp and utterly ruined from all of his sweating and flopping about. The pillows were most likely trash at this point, jettisoned off the bed hours ago when they proved no help to the unbearable heat Robin was feeling, sticky and probably accumulating grime and dust from off of the stone floor. All of these things minor casualties in Robin’s body’s war against itself. To him, it was just more things he needed to add to the long list he was building for the next supply run.

 

Robin sighed in frustration. The whole point of being able to go back to bed tonight instead of working or training was because he needed to _rest_. Hours ago Barsad saw how bad Robin was flagging while he was laying out the knives he needed for that nights specified training session. Barsad told him it was the third time that day he caught him doing it and the sixth time that week.

 

When Bane and Talia were out of the city, Barsad was next in command. During that duration of time, Barsad owned Robin. It didn’t matter to Barsad that Robin slept in the same room as Bane; Barsad accepted _none_ of his bullshit and treated him like any other soldier. Barsad’s version of a soldier in Talia and Bane’s army was someone who worked hard and picked training instead of fucking around.

 

Robin was no exception.

 

But today when Barsad saw how ridiculous and just _exhausted_ Robin looked, he told him to get out, he wasn’t going to be the one to take care of some sack of useless flesh and ligament. After giving him a light slap and a warning to sleep on time because “…tomorrow night there will be none of this mercy shit again,” Robin thanked him thoroughly and was off before the man could change his mind. Robin never looked a gift horse in the mouth and this gift, from _Barsad_ of all people, was a precious one. So he quickly, but efficiently, packed away his knives and went straight to his room.

____________________________________________________________________

_1 Hour Later_

As Robin laid there, body splayed out in defeat, he was becoming resigned to the idea that he was just not going to get _any_ sleep. His stomach was just one dull, pulsing ache, while tiny points of pain still stung parts of his lower half.

 

He thought about getting up, about how livid Barsad will be if he sees him disrespecting the generous reprieve he gave him. But fuck, he really needed to get out of this bed. He felt disgusting after rolling around the bed in his own sweat for the last six hours. Robin chewed on the inside of his bottom lip debating risking disaster with Barsad in order to get to the bathroom and piss, get a glass of water, and take that needed shower, versus laying in the bed and getting teased by the waterfall outside his window.

 

_Fuck it._

Mind set, Robin slowly rose from his position in the bed, his feet padding softly onto the cold stone floor. He grabbed up his grey, oversized long-sleeved shirt from the chair near him and let it slip smoothly on and down his quivering body. It was old and worn out but it was soft to the touch and a cool relief against his overheated torso. When Robin finally controlled himself enough to stand on shaky legs he allowed the shirt to fall to its complete length. Robin was glad to notice that the shirt at least managed to cover his penis even though it left a lot of his legs and thighs bare. Robin didn’t care; he didn’t want the restrictive button of his fatigues constricting his still pounding lower half, pulling at the leftover tenderness. Robin didn’t want to admit it to himself either but the other reason was, he didn’t have the strength right now to try to fumble and put on a pair of pants anyway.

 

He steadily made his way to the end of the bed, near his boots, panting as he staggered over. When he finally coordinated one foot in front of the other long enough to reach it, he sat back down hard onto the edge and took a moment to catch his breath. When Robin was ready, he reached out for his boots. He may not be wearing any pants but he’d bite his own hand off before he walked down any of the hallways barefoot. First, it was cold, and second, what if he had to make a quick getaway? No, he needed his boots. You got the first pair free, the second pair…

 

The thought of it made Robin shiver.

 

He needed these boots.

 

Mercifully the boots were not only lace up, but each boot had a zipper on the side that could also be used to open and close it. Robin was never more thankful to laziness and convenience.

 

He bent as far as he dared to get his boots on when the pain rejected the movement and thrummed in his abdomen in reprisal. Robin hissed through his gritted teeth as he unzipped and zipped first his left boot and then his right, high up his muscular calves and a bit past his knees.

 

Robin sat back up and took great gulping gasps of air. When his harsh breathing became counterproductive and started to cause _more_ pain, Robin began a slow, measured inhaling and exhaling pattern. As Robin sat there putting his body to rights, he remembered thankfully that there should at least be one towel left on one of the metal hooks inside the alcove.

 

After regulating his breathing and thoroughly taking stock of the room one last time, Robin stood and walked over to the heavy wood and iron door. He squeezed his eyes shut as his hand held on tight to the cold metal handle. He took a moment to mentally prepare himself, pushing down the leftover drumming pain and the fresh stab of fear that stemmed from the idea of getting caught. Once he opened his eyes again his spine was ramrod straight, eyes dark, and face impenetrable. Right now, this Robin was the lithe creature that all wanted to battle, to beat, to touch, to _fuck_. The predator being built by the League was allowed to make its appearance. He was the beast born from fire and blood, the animal that could only be satiated by the blood of the ones who craved his ruin.

 

Slowly Robin pulled the hefty door open.

 

He could handle himself.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Character reveal
> 
> Did you like it? Well I have something to tell you... WIP status. 
> 
> For any readers who actually read this... whatever it is, I apologize for basically telling you nothing of importance. For any readers who were disgusted with what they just read well, I'm sorry, I'm really putting my best into this. For any readers who actually enjoyed this... well thank you. Thank you so much. I think I would actually break out into tears if ANYONE actually likes this.


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